


The Long Road Home

by allyarra



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Memory Loss, fallen angel!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyarra/pseuds/allyarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a fallen angel trying to find his way home to the pack while his memories of them are slowly disappearing. Meanwhile, Derek and the pack back home are trying to remember Stiles so that he can find them. But even just remembering an angel after their fall is harder than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles doesn’t really remember much of importance from before, but he knows there’s a difference. For one, he no longer has wings. Which is actually a much bigger problem than he’d thought it would be, because you’d just think that all that would change is that he could no longer fly. But no, that’s not what happens when you literally lose your wings. Your entire center of gravity changes, because wow, turns out wings are actually kind of heavy, at least in relation to the rest of your body, and Stiles keeps having to adjust how he stands because he tends to lean too far forward to compensate for the weight of wings that are no longer there.

He remembers fondly when he was graceful, when he could dance across the ground as easily as he danced through the air. Other angels used to sigh in envy to see him fly and now they would laugh if they saw him tripping and stumbling on the ground. And it’s strange because what he finds himself missing the most is not the ability to fly, but the ease with which he’d once held himself, confident in his own abilities.

Now he’s not sure of anything. He knows that he’s here for a reason, that his wings were cut from his back and then thrown from the Heavens in front of him because of a reason, even if he doesn’t know what that reason is. He knew at one point in time, but now, every time he thinks he’s remembered, it slips through his grasp.

They like to keep a watch on the Fallen, those who have been cast from the Heavens in shame, to make sure that they are truly being punished for their misdeeds. So Stiles pretends that each time it all escapes, that he’s not keeping little bits and pieces, hoarding little memories like a child slipping candy into his pockets when his parents aren’t looking.

It’s gotten to the point that Stiles actually has a fair idea of where he’s going. He’s not certain, because the memories are disjointed, scattered fragments of a whole, but it’s enough to give him a heading. He knows that he’s going somewhere in Northern California, which isn’t actually that helpful because it turns out that Northern California is still pretty damn big. But he knows he’s got to find a burned out husk of a house in some woods and there can’t be too many of those that are still standing and relatively recent.

Those are the clues that he lets himself be drawn to, because the other hints are things that only sink in through his dreams. Images of beautiful people fighting, with claws and fangs and arrows and fire, and sights of those same people smiling and laughing and loving and being together. It makes his breath catch, even as he sleeps, and his heart aches long after he wakes and the dreams are reduced to foggy recollections. He knows that these are the ones he needs to find, the ones that he left behind when he was recalled to the Heavens only to be cast out.

But what haunts him the most are a pair of beautiful eyes of a color he can’t describe, although he’s lived for thousands of years and has seen the greatest artists of history at work on their masterpieces. None of those masterpieces can compare to these eyes though, and their strength and love and compassion and infinite sadness all peering out from a face that Stiles believes is more suited to an Angel than a mere mortal.

He hides that memory from himself just as much as he hides it from those who watch him. In the back of his mind he knows that as he gets ever closer to the place he’s been heading towards all this time, he’s drawing closer to the man that face belongs to. He needs to push it away because if he allows himself to think about it he’ll remember that he belongs to that man, that he chose to do what caused him to be cast aside and he’s not sure he’s ready to admit that.

Being an Angel is all he’s ever known and now he’s been stuffed into this mortal body that he can’t control and can’t seem to keep up with his own mind. It can’t even move the way he wants it to. So he’s not ready to admit that he chose to become a Fallen, but with every moment that passes he gets closer to that man and he finds himself caring less and less why he is the way he is now and only that the distance that separates them still exists.

So he keeps going, moving ever closer to that place that’s been calling to him, that’s drawing him like a moth to a flame. He can feel the others that are always watching, but he can’t seem to stay away. He’s got to keep going, to keep moving because if he stops then something bad will happen, something that he can no longer protect himself from. The knowledge that something out there is hunting for him, tracking him down like a rabid animal, and that it’s nothing he’s ever dealt with before is what keeps him going some days, the days in which he can’t get out of bed because he’s beginning to lose hope that he’ll ever manage to get to his destination.

He doesn’t even know what to call it besides ‘destination’ and he’s tried to think of alternatives, but he just can’t do it. At one point he considered the word ‘home’ only to discard it. This place he’s heading towards can’t be his home when he can’t remember it. Maybe it was once and maybe it will be again, but it’s not his home right now. He doesn’t have a home right now, only a heading.

\---

Derek knows that he is never going to see Stiles ever again but he doesn’t always remember it. It’s like right after the fire, when sometimes he would wake up without the smell of ashes and burnt flesh in his nostrils and for a moment he would just lay and bed, waiting for his mom to yell at him to get up or one of his little sisters to come bursting into his room. Except then he would have to remember that no, his entire family is dead except for Laura and Peter, but Peter’s as good as dead. And now it’s even worse. He really is the last of the Hales.

But he could deal with that, could work through that anger and sorrow and guilt, if only he still had Stiles by his side. The only reason he’s able to function at this point is because Erica refuses to let him be, refuses to let him get lost in his own sorrow and lose himself like he once had. She tells him that she won’t lose her Alpha, not after all the work and time that it’s taken to make him a good Alpha, but they both know that she’s doing it for Stiles. She’s doing it because Stiles wouldn’t want Derek to fall apart, had explicitly told the pack to watch out for Derek, had told Derek to keep it together, to live out his life.

And Derek knows that the angels are watching, sometimes he can feel them, that strange feeling where the weight of someone’s stare makes your skin crawl. It’s at those times that he’s especially careful to pretend that everything is well. He’s good at it, but then he’s had years of practice pretending like he’s not living a lie, pretending as if all he wants is to be reunited with those who have been lost to him. He never thought he’d be grateful for that practice.

Erica still doesn’t understand though, doesn’t understand why he needs to mourn Stiles sometimes. She has utter faith in Stiles and there are times when he envies that faith, when he is jealous of her ability to believe in something that completely. His faith isn’t that absolute. There are days when he has to lay in bed for an hour or two before getting up because the weight of Stiles not being there has settled onto his chest once again, has settled there and has pressed down onto his chest so that he can’t breathe. No, he does not have Erica’s or Isaac’s or Scott’s absolute faith that Stiles will return to them. It would be so much easier if he did.

But he does what he can anyway. He clings to his memories of Stiles, all of them, even the ones that make him cringe and want to throw up, the ones where Stiles is bloody and bruised and Derek has to carry him home. He won’t let a single one escape because if there’s one thing he’s learned in his life it’s that as long as you keep hold of the memories, then you still have something, even if it’s only cold comfort.

It’s been more than three and a half years since he last even saw Stiles, let alone held him or kissed him. He’s honestly not sure just how much longer he can keep going, can keep believing. But it doesn’t matter whether or not he believes that clinging to the memories will allows Stiles to return, he knows that he’ll never stop. He will remember Stiles for the rest of his life and no angel will ever get in the way of that ever again.

\---

Stiles woke up three days ago in a hospital in North Carolina. Ever since then everything’s been getting hazier. He knows when he woke up that he knew who he was and that he needed to get back to his pack, he knew his mate’s name and where exactly his home was. He’s no longer so sure that he remembers. It’s strange, like a fog rolling into town where everything is slowly but surely obscured, but this time instead of his vision being taken away, it’s his memories.

This morning when he woke up he thought his name was Sam. Just for a few minutes, but it was enough to scare him. That’s what the doctors think his name is, Sam, because that’s what the angels have decided his name will be from now on. He doesn’t hate it, but it’s not his name, although he supposes that very soon that won’t make much of a difference. He can’t stop it, can’t do anything, really. All he can do is hope that soon his wounds will stop breaking open and that he can leave this place, can start trying to find his way home.

He knows that he needs to start off soon, before it’s too late. His wings have been cut off and slowly his connection with everything from before will be cut off as well. That’s what happens when an angel loses their wings, they lose their connection with the world. Everything they’ve ever done or said is slowly lost, to themselves and to those they’d interacted with. It’s inevitable and the only thing that can be done is for the mortals to remember him. He’s helpless now, only his friends and loved ones can save him, by clinging to both the painful and the joyful memories.

If he can just find his way home, can just get to them before the memories really start to slip away, then it will be fine. As long as he’s there, present in their lives, they’re not going to forget him. It’s happened before, when other angels have chosen to become mortal and had their wings clipped, as long as they remained with their loved ones then nothing was forgotten, they were just regular humans. But others hadn’t managed to get home in time, others had been punished by being pulled away from their homes, far enough that by the time they could get home it was too late. Everything had been forgotten. So he needs to get moving, needs to start heading home.

That’s what he wants, more than anything, is to be on his way home. The memories are starting to slip away, like water through his fingers, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them. Pretty soon, they’ll all be locked away and that’s when Stiles will be gone, completely. It will mean all of the memories of him have been erased, not just from his own mind, but from the minds of the pack, of his father, of Derek. But he can’t go, not yet. The wounds left behind by the clipping of wings take a long time to heal and it’s more than possible to die from them if they’re just left alone.

It’ll be months before they stop breaking open and oozing out blood. Stiles likes to think it’s symbolic, this slow loss of life blood is a metaphor for the memories that are being lost. It’s all so poetic and it makes him want to puke. These wounds are what’s keeping him tied down, unable to get home, and he hates them for more than just the fact that their reminders that he’s lost the ability to fly. He’s been grounded and he hates that, but he knows that he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. The pack means more to him than any stupid pair of wings ever could.

But the thing that really gets to him is that he knows there’s nothing he can do to stop this, but he can’t help but dwell on the events that lead up to this, as if remembering those, thinking about them hard enough, will ward off the inevitable. He remembers seeing the first signs of trouble, when people had begun to forget everything, their memories disappearing into thin air and their purpose in life left of the side of the road. He’d known, even then, at the very beginning, that his quiet life in Beacon Hills had come to an end. And he’d been right.

\---

Surprisingly, it’s Scott who’s the first one to notice the problem. Of course, he’s also the one who works in the hospital and is the one to see the sudden influx of patients with complete memory loss and no head trauma or any other kind of trauma that would explain that memory loss. Stiles had already felt the hard knot of dread curling in his gut when Scott had told them of his observations and Derek hadn’t immediately come up with an explanation. But then, Stiles had known there wasn’t another explanation.

Stiles might not be as knowledgeable about the supernatural as he had been before choosing to remain among the mortals, the gaps in his knowledge being his punishment for turning his back on his brethren, but he knew the work of a rogue angel when he saw it. Long ago he’d been responsible for hunting down rogues, but that was before he’d taken up a post as a guide, before he’d been assigned as Scott’s guide only to discover that he preferred this life among mortals and chosen to remain with them even after he’d completed his purpose there. 

He’d known it would only be a matter of time though. It was something that he’d accepted as inevitable, that one day the angels would become a presence in his life once again. He’d just hoped that it would be when he was old and gray, when it had been so long and there were so many memories that he’d be able to find his way back no matter what happened. As it was he wasn’t sure that if he was revealed now, if the others found out about angels at this moment in time, that he’d ever manage to find his way back to them. So the only thing he could do was pretend ignorance and try not to make them suspicious.

Stiles couldn’t even try to lead them astray, to leave a false trail to some other creature, because he knew what would happen if they tried to go up against an angel unawares. He wouldn’t let them be lost, even if it meant losing himself.

\---

It hasn’t even been two hours since he last saw Stiles, but Derek feels like it’s been an eternity. He feels as if he’s going crazy, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. The rest of the pack are sitting together in the den, but he’s shut himself away in his bedroom, where Stiles’ clothes can be found lying on the floor and his scent still hangs heavily in the air. Derek still can’t quite process what’s happened, does know what to do now, because he’s completely helpless, he can’t do anything.

He knows the rules, knows why Stiles never told him or anyone else, he understands. Derek knows that if Stiles had revealed that he was an angel, he’d be forced to leave, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. He’s not sure where the faint sting of betrayal bleeds into the tidal wave of grief and loss, but he knows that it’s there. It’s this vicious undercurrent that Derek wishes that he didn’t have, wishes that it didn’t exist, because in his head he knows that Stiles never did anything to betray him, that Stiles did everything that he could. But Derek’s been burned before, has literally had the heart burned out of him, that he can’t help that hint of resentment that Stiles had never told him the truth.

Derek had put everything out there for Stiles, and Stiles hadn’t even told him that he wasn’t human. It’s a lot to process, almost too much to take in, but he does it. He fights against the betrayal, because he knows the rules, he knows the consequences, and he gets it. Derek doesn’t want his memories of Stiles’ to be tainted by anything, he’s got enough tainted memories (memories of his family, curdled from guilt and betrayal). And he knows that the only thing he can do in this situation is to keep his promise to his mate, to remember him. Derek can’t do that if he’s resenting Stiles the entire time.

It’s hard though, so fucking hard. Derek knows he has trust issues, trust issues that have very good reasons behind them, but that doesn’t mean that their any easier to overlook just because he knows about them. It was Stiles who had finally gotten him to trust just a little and now this revelation comes and it’s almost like all of the progress he’s made over the years has been lost. Understanding why he’s been lied to doesn’t change that, it just makes Derek more willing to continue to want Stiles back, to try and hold onto the memories despite this betrayal.

But the memories are like little fish in the water, slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tries to catch them. It’s only been hours and he knows he’s forgotten some things. He can’t remember when Stiles’ birthday is or what his favorite color is. Little things, but forgetting them hurts in a way he can’t describe. He’s losing the person he loves a way that is more finite than he’s ever lost anyone else, because at least he can remember the way his mother smelled and the way his father would laugh when Derek stumbled into the kitchen first thing in the morning, only half awake.

More than anything Derek doesn’t want to forget the feeling of waking up next to Stiles in bed, when Stiles is still asleep and the light is shining across his face. He doesn’t want to forget the fierce look that Stiles would get before he went into battle for the pack, the way he’d place one hard kiss on Derek’s lips before charging in, ready to take apart anyone who threatened those he loved. Or the soft smile that Stiles reserved just for him, when they were alone and were enjoying just being together and Stiles smiled at him, a small smile that was more real than any of his grins and just spoke volumes of how much he loved Derek and how happy he was right in that moment. No, Derek doesn’t want to forget that, more than anything he wants to remember that smile.

\---

“It’s an angel,” Derek says, setting down his book , a faraway look in his eyes. No one else says anything for a long moment but Stiles has to close his eyes, has to shut out this reality for just a minute or two because if there was something he never wanted them to know, it was the truth.

“What do you mean ‘angel’?” Lydia demands, of course Lydia would want to know, wouldn’t be able to leave it alone once she knew there was something, some creature, out there that she didn’t know anything about. Especially once the term angel is brought into it.

Then Scott opens his mouth and wow, Stiles really wishes he wouldn’t but apparently what Stiles wishes doesn’t mean anything. “You’re not talking about those little babies with wings and bows and arrows on those cards, right? Those don’t exactly sound very scary.”

Derek has stood up and begun to pace in front of them. He looks agitated, more agitated than he should because he normally calms down once he knows exactly what they’re up against, but this time he knows too much, Stiles thinks, too much about angels to be anything but panicked at the thought of taking this one down. It’s making the others nervous as well and Stiles can’t even offer any reassurance. His hands are tied, the rules literally written in stone. If he says anything now, if he reveals just what he is, then he has to leave them, has to go back Above.

“I only know what little I can remember from the old stories that my mom used to tell. But it’s enough to know that this angel is the most dangerous thing we’ve faced yet,” he says, coming to a stop behind Stiles’ chair, placing his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles reaches up to cover Derek’s hands with his hands, trying to calm his mate as much as he can with just his touch.

“Tell us what you do know,” he says, because he knows that it’s suspicious that he’s stayed quiet for this long. Normally, he’s the first to pounce on new knowledge.  
“Angels aren’t like the other beings we’ve faced. They’re fast and strong and have wings, but they also have a purpose. They’re supposed to be guides for people. They can live for thousands of years, but they’re born into human bodies and grow up near their charge.”

Everyone else is watching Derek intently, taking in his every word and motion. Stiles is trying to watch all of them at once. It’s difficult, because he doesn’t want to see this. He never wanted them to know about his species, never wanted them to realize that angels actually exist. This is practically his worst nightmare come to life.  
“There are rules, though. Absolutely no acknowledgement of being an angel is to be made. None.” Stiles wants to sag in relief that Derek knows this rule, this tenant of life as an angel. It means that should he ever find out, he’ll understand.

Boyd, ever the logical one, is the one that sees the problem though. “So why is this angel here? If he’s supposed to be some protector why is he killing people?”  
“I don’t know,” Derek admits and Stiles is a little proud of him for that, because it has taken a long time for Derek to grow comfortable enough to admit when he doesn’t know something. “My mom always said that they had a way of policing themselves, but I don’t think that’s going to help us here.”

“Obviously,” Stiles cuts in, not even bothering to hide his contempt. This wouldn’t be a problem if his Brothers and Sisters were more organized and actually paid attention to more than just the more powerful angels and didn’t let small fries like this one slip through the cracks. “There’s a crazy angel out there who thinks he’s a psychic vampire and they’ve done nothing about it that I can see.”

Scott cuts in before Stiles can elaborate on his disdain for the angels and their policing abilities, which is actually a good thing because Stiles might have given something away. “But what are we going to do about it?” he asks, in his hero voice, the one that should sound calm and commanding, but really just makes Stiles want to coo and pet his best friend and charge on the head. That feeling doesn’t last long because Derek responds in the way that Stiles had been dreading ever since he realized just what was happening.

“Take it down.”

He has to close his eyes, shutting out everything around him and shoving down his instincts, trying not to reveal his most important secret, the one that Derek had just given the reason for why it must remain secret. One of these people gathered here, maybe even more than one, is going to die very soon and the only way he can stop it is to reveal himself, to sacrifice himself in their stead. He could do it, too, he’s more than strong enough to take out this rogue, this baby who isn’t even powerful enough for those Above to take notice of. But Stiles knows that the second he reveals himself, they’ll notice. He’s too strong now, has too many black marks on his record, for them not to notice.

It doesn’t even matter. He doesn’t have a choice. He won’t let the fear of Falling allow him to let someone he loves die. He was too weak, this body too young, to save his mother, but not this time. His body has grown enough to be able to hold all of his power. No one needs to die now.

\---

He’s been in the hospital for about five days before it occurs to him that he should just call the pack, that maybe just talking to them will stave off a bit of the memory loss. It’s all he can do right now and he wants to kick himself for not thinking of it earlier, is honestly more than a little mad at himself because this is so very obvious that it’s a wonder he didn’t think of it before. There’s a small pile of things that are supposedly his, including a wallet with an Illinois driver’s license and credit cards all saying that they belong to a man named Sam Hart. But what he wants from that pile right now is the cell phone that he’s pretty sure is supposed to belong to him, even though it looks nothing like the phone he remembers.

His heart is already pounding with anticipation at the thought of speaking to his loved ones again, of hearing Derek’s voice. He misses hearing Derek speak, with his lovely voice that’s not nearly as deep or rough as his appearance makes it seems like it would be. The sound of Derek’s voice is one of the things that he’s clung to the most, because he never wants to forget the sound of it, the smooth texture of it, how it can sound so rough after sex, and the gentleness that always takes precedence when Derek tells him that he loves him. 

Once he has the phone in hand he has to stare at it for a long time, trying to remember Derek’s number. He’s not sure if at one point he’d had Derek’s number memorized if he’d just always had it in his cell so that he hadn’t needed to memorize it. But he knows that it’s locked in his head somewhere, he knows that it’s there, he just needs to find it.  
In the end he just closes his eyes and uses muscle memory, a little surprised that it works. His hand’s shaking as he brings the phone up to his ear and listens to it ring. His heart’s pounding and he’s glad that he’s no longer hooked up to the heart monitor because the beeping would have been obnoxious even to him. His heart is in his throat, threatening to choke him and for a wild moment he wonders if he’ll actually be able to say anything if Derek picks up the phone, wonders if he’ll just have to sit there and let Derek’s voice wash over him.

But the phone just keeps ringing and he remembers just how bad Derek was about actually picking up the phone and now he’s worried that he might not be able to speak to Derek at all. He might have to make do with just listening to the voicemail message and trying to choke out something to let Derek know that he’s alive, that he loves him, that he’s going to be home as soon as he’s able. For once in his life his mind is blank on how he’s supposed to say anything though, it’s not just that his throat is closing up, his mind is actually blank.

Then, Derek picks up. “Hello?” he says and Stiles wants to laugh in relief because suddenly he can speak again, he can use words.

“Derek,” he breathes out, more of a sigh than anything else.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice breaks in just that one word and Stiles can fear tears pricking the back of his eyes.

“Yes, I’m here,” he says, just letting the words flow because he doesn’t know how long this call will last, doesn’t even know if the angels will cut it off or if this will slip through their watch. “I love you, I miss you, I’m coming home.”

“God, Stiles.” Stiles tries to fix those words into his memory, tries to burn them into his brain on the off chance that he can’t get home soon, that he starts forgetting again. He never wants to forget the way that Derek said those words, as if his entire world had just been corrected. “You’re alive.”

And of course that’s what Derek would say, of course he’d be worried that Stiles is dead despite the fact that he knows the punishment for Stiles’ transgression. “Yes, yes, I’m alive, I’m coming home, I love you, I’m so sorry,” he says, everything he can think of that might reassure Derek.

“I love you too,” Derek responds and the words are probably the most wonderful words that Stiles has ever heard. “I remember you, I won’t forget.”

And Stiles opens his mouth to say something through the tears that have begun to flow freely, he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, but then the phone just goes dead. A click and silence. “Derek? Derek?” he cries, already knowing with a sick kind of certainty that the call has been cut off, that he won’t be able to contact Derek this way again. Still, he tries over and over to dial the number again, only to get that damn woman telling him that the number does not exist.

When the nurses come in later to give him his nightly medication they find him curled up in bed, clutching the phone to his heart, and his face stained with tears. Fresh blood oozes from his back, spreading from the bandages to the sheets, his wounds broken open once again.

\---

Derek’s not really sure what made them think that they could handle this. Angels are strong and fast, but they also have the ability to twist memories, to make their perception of reality just off enough that they can’t resist. And he’s pretty sure that this isn’t even a very powerful angel, especially if it hasn’t attracted the attention of other angels. But that doesn’t matter, because he’s pretty sure that all of them will lose everything by the end of this night.

“I wasn’t even expecting to find werewolves here!” the angel exclaims, laughing at them while they struggle to move. Derek doesn’t even understand what’s happening, because this is nothing like he’d ever heard. He’d known angels were on a whole other level, but he hadn’t known that it was to the extent that there was nothing a mortal could do against them. 

It made sense though, that the angels policed themselves because nothing else was capable of it. Derek supposed that if people were, then the hunters would have dealt with this rogue long before it came to this. For the first time in his life Derek actually spares a thought to be regretful that hunters hadn’t dealt with this problem, and that’s probably the biggest sign that things aren’t going well. If he’s actually feeling regretful for anything other than letting a hunter live then there’s something seriously wrong.

His attention snaps back to the angel as it takes a step towards Scott and he tries not to let his mind go on another tangent, tries to focus on the situation. But it’s strange, because he can’t focus, not like he usually can. Not since the angel had unfurled his beautiful brown wings, wings that on some level Derek knew were the root of his memory problem.

“All of you have such vivid memories, it’s practically a feast just waiting for me,” the angel giggled and Derek wanted to retch. His memories weren’t something that he could afford to lose, they were all he had left of his family.

He struggled against the invisible bonds holding him in place, muscles bulging and straining without any progress. The angel was in front of Scott now, reaching out a hand as if to caress Scott’s face. “Stop!” rang out across the clearing, startling all of them and somehow lessening the angel’s hold on them.

Derek turned his head the last few inches to the right so that he could finally see Stiles, and felt a trickle of relief to see him unharmed, but mostly he was concerned. Stiles was standing just behind the angel, feet planted in the dirt and hands clenched tightly. “You don’t want to do this,” he warned and for the first time in a long time Derek felt a stirring of doubt in his mate.

It had been a long time since he’d last felt like this, felt like there was something that Stiles had done that he’d not yet known about. But this time, this time there was nothing that Stiles could have done to prepare for this and Derek felt the cold fingers of dread brush against his spine. Stiles was going to do something stupid, something that would save them, he was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure what the cost would be. 

The angel just sneers at Stiles, but takes a step away from Scott, a step in Stiles’ direction. “And what do you think you’re going to do about it, mortal?”

Stiles doesn’t even respond, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even move, he just stares down the angel. Derek can hear his heartbeat and it hasn’t even sped up, it’s as steady as it ever is, as if whatever’s he’s about to do doesn’t make a difference. Derek recognizes that’s how Stiles’ heart always sounds after he’s made a decision, when he’s determined to go through with it and Derek might not know what the decision was, but he knows there’s nothing he can do now to stop Stiles from going through with it.

“This,” he says and then wings are bursting from his back, beautiful gray wings that look as if they belong on a dove soaring through the sky. They’re so large that they reach past Scott, cutting him off from the path of the angel.

No, cutting him off from the path of the other angel, who is on his knees, staring up at Stiles. “You should have followed the warnings I left for you,” Stiles whispered, so low that if Derek were human he’s sure that he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. And then the angel’s bursting apart, his wings being shredded first and then the rest of his body, with his blood splattering everywhere, staining Stiles’ clothes and skin and wings.

Stiles doesn’t even spare the remains a glance, he’s already turning towards Derek, who’s fallen to his knees, the angel’s influence gone with his death. Stiles kneels in front of him and Derek wants to turn away, wants to yell at Stiles, wants to find some way to convey the utter betrayal he’s feeling, but he knows the rules.

He knows what’s coming now, what Stiles has done by revealing his wings. Derek knows that very soon Stiles will be gone and so will all his memories of him. And Derek doesn’t know if he can do anything to stop it, although there’s adrenaline pumping through his body, screaming at him to grab Stiles and run. He can work through the hurt and betrayal later, but if he doesn’t do something now he’ll lose every last bit of Stiles, even his memories.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early, the third chapter will probably be up on Tuesday next week, not Monday.

Derek feels like he’s going through the world in a haze. He’s tried to call that number multiple times, he’s even tried to use other people’s phones as well, but all he ever gets is that damn message saying that that number does not exist. It’s to the point where he’s not even sure if that phone call ever even happened, or if it had just been a dream.

Two days without any further contact and he’s almost ready to call it a dream, a crazy dream of nothing but wishful thoughts, but he knows Stiles. He knows that Stiles would find some way to contact him, some way in which to let Derek know that he was still alive, that he was coming home. Derek can’t give up hope, not in Stiles. Stiles is the one thing in his life that he’s always been able to count on, even before he’d come to trust Stiles and long before he’d loved him, he could count on Stiles to be there.

But it’s been two days and little things are beginning to slip through the cracks once again. For two days he’d been able to cling to Stiles’ memory hard enough that he hadn’t lost anything and then he’d woken up this morning and tried to remember Stiles’ usual morning routine and couldn’t.

They’d been living together for almost two years and he couldn’t remember the order in which Stiles liked to go about his morning and for some reason that seemed so much more important than it ever had been before. He might have never known it, might never have paid close enough attention to have it consciously memorized, but in that moment the loss of that knowledge seemed monumental. It was like losing Stiles all over again, to realize that he couldn’t even close his eyes and pretend that Stiles was moving around their room, getting ready for the day.

So he closes his eyes and remembers that phone conversation, remembers the sound of Stiles’ voice. Derek is determined that if he loses everything else, he at least will remember the sound of Stiles’ voice, the way he’s said “I love you” and his promise to come home. At the very least, he refuses to lose that.

He wishes that he could tell one of the pack about the phone call but every time he tries to get the words out his throat closes up. He’s not even sure if it’s because he can’t bring himself to talk about it, to reveal his vulnerability even further, even to his pack, or if it’s some outside influence, possibly the same influence that cut off the phone call. Derek doesn’t know, but he knows that he cares which one it is. He won’t put Stiles or his pack in danger from the angels he’s sure are watching. Derek knows the danger that they pose now, he knows it all too well.

When Erica comes looking for him this time he’s staring at the photo on his bedside table. It’s a framed picture of him and Stiles, taken just over a year ago, on his birthday. In it Stiles is sitting on his lap, with his head thrown back in laughter and Derek is just looking up at him in complete adoration. Derek doesn’t even remember who took the picture, only that the second Stiles had seen it, he’d demanded a copy which he’d then framed and placed on their bedside table, where it had remained for the past year. As reluctant as he was to admit it, Derek loved that picture too.

“We’re not going to forget him, we’ve got all these reminders, how could we forget?” she says as she takes a seat on the bed next to him. “Every morning you can look at this picture and remember him.

Derek doesn’t say anything, he just hands over the picture. In it everything has remained the same, it’s the same picture that it’s always been, except for the fact that Stiles’ image is fading. Just a little, just enough to be noticeable, but he’s slowly vanishing. Derek’s not remembering enough, he’s not keeping his promise. Stiles is still disappearing.

****\---** **

The sound of beating wings is already filling the air but Stiles just frames Derek’s face with his hands, looking him in the eye, holding him there. “Don’t forget me,” he says and he’s talking to Derek, but he’s also talking to the rest of them. “All of you, don’t forget me.” There’s an edge to his voice, as if he’s pleading with them and Derek can’t process it, can’t understand a world where he would ever forget about Stiles.

“Never,” he vows and Stiles grins at him, eyes shining with tears. One escapes and Derek reaches up to brush it away with his thumb and leaves his hand there, resting on Stiles’ cheek. The others are uttering similar promises so he just whispers “never” again, so Stiles knows this Derek promising Stiles that he will never forget Stiles or them, never forget what they were. A sob escapes Stiles but he regains control of himself, lowering his hands and stepping back, away from Derek, into the center of the clearing.

“They’ll try to make you forget and they’ll be watching so pretend, but remember your promises,” Stiles says and then they’re there. The angels.

There are five of them, dropping out of the sky as if they were heavenly warriors, each of them dressed in dark clothing and carrying swords that glow with an inner light. They drop to the earth in a circle around Stiles, cutting him off from the pack and Derek knows that that’s why Stiles stood there, so that the pack couldn’t try to get between him and the angels.

“Hello, Brother” the biggest of them and the one Derek takes to be the leader sneers at Stiles and Derek tries to move, tries to say something to defend his mate, but he’s frozen. He can’t even move his eyes to see if the rest of the pack is as well. Stiles’ eyes meet his once again and Derek’s heart shatters along the fault lines that had been slowly appearing all night. It’s not the angels holding them in place, keeping them from making move to stop them, it’s Stiles.

“Congratulations Uriah, you’ve been promoted,” he says without looking away from Derek’s eyes.  “And five of you? I’m flattered, I thought the normal escort was just two.”

“Not for you, brother,” Uriah says and then all five of them lunge forward, as if they think Stiles is going to suddenly escape. “We just wanted some insurance that you were going to come quietly.”

Derek can’t see Stiles any longer, the wings from the angels have cut off Stiles from their vision, but the pack is still stuck in place. He can hear Stiles’ laughter though, the thick, dark chuckle that always comes when someone who thinks they’re a predator has cornered him. But this time it’s different, because this time Stiles is letting himself be prey, is going to go with these angels even though he doesn’t want to. But not for long, no, Stiles won’t be prey for very long. Derek will make sure of that if it’s the last thing he does.

“Stop posturing and get on with it,” Stiles snarls, his chuckles dying out and the menace in his tone enough that Derek sees the female angel flinch. “Do what you came here for Uriah!”

“Be careful what you wish for, brother.”

And then, as suddenly as they appeared, they’re gone, shooting up back into the sky and carrying Stiles with them. For a long moment they can still feel Stiles’ presence, holding them in place until it’s too late for them to do anything. And then Derek’s bonds disappear and nothing is there to hold him up, only empty air. His knees give out as he shifts back into his fully human form. All around him the pack is howling in confusion, in anger, in despair.

Derek is too numb to join in, too numb from the shock of his mate being torn away from him to begin to process anything. He just sits, staring at the place where Stiles last stood, while around him his wolves make the woods come alive with the sound of their loss. And all Derek can hear is the echo of wings beats inside his head.

****\---** **

Stiles didn’t get out of the hospital quickly enough. He’d known it with sick certainty the day he’d been released when he’d gotten into the cab only to discover he had no idea where to go. The knowledge just wasn’t in his head anymore. So he’d just told the driver to take him to the nearest cheap hotel. Once there he sat in his room and wallowed in self-pity.

It was something he’d refused to indulge in at the hospital, choosing instead to save it for after he was released, after he wasn’t constantly surrounded by people. He’d been able to stay positive because he’d had the thought of home to sustain him, he’d known exactly where he was going to be headed after he got out. There had been no need to wallow, he’d thought he’d be home soon enough. And now, now he had no idea if he’d ever manage to find home again.

He knew enough that he had a general heading, but a general heading wasn’t good enough. He needed to know more, needed to have a specific destination to head towards before the rest of his memories slipped from his grip. So he sits in the hotel room and on the pad of paper they left out he writes down his plan, writes down everything he can as a reminder, even though he knows the words will fade just as quickly as the memories.

In the morning he gets up and he goes to the library to use the computers there and uses his research skills to figure out how he’s going to get home. He can’t just fly to California, that’s never going to work. The air isn’t his anymore, it’s a danger zone rather than a safe haven. His only saving grace is that when you fall, you’re not left with nothing. You get an identity, you exist, you have access to funds, and all of it means that Stiles isn’t stranded in some city in North Carolina.

So he goes to a car dealer and considers a few different cars before he sees the blue jeep and knows instantly that that is the car he needs. It’s beautiful, and just different enough from his old car that it won’t be lost. It’s something that can’t be taken away, because it’s not the exact same as his old car and Stiles starts to feel better, because this, this is what he’s good at. Bending the rules in his favor, he can do that. He can do that until such time as he’s bent them so far that they snap and he’s home. Because he knows there’s nothing that can keep him from getting home for very long.

****\---** **

They don’t even allow him the dignity of a trial. They don’t even take him back Above, just to some place in North Carolina. Two of them, probably the youngest since he doesn’t even remember having ever seen them before, grab his wings and pull them out until they’re spread wide. The other two hold him still and on his knees while Uriah draws his sword.

“You’ve committed the ultimate sin, Brother, to reveal to a mortal your wings is the worst crime imaginable, only topped by killing one of your own Brothers or Sisters,” Uriah says in a fake somber tone, but Stiles remembers him too well, knows exactly what he means by his words. There’s glee there, glee at the fact that he gets to be the one to cut off Stiles’ wings. Stiles wants to be sick, because he doesn’t understand how someone could become so twisted that they enjoy cutting off an angel’s wings. But he’s Stiles so he bites down on that feeling and gives in to the anger.

“Come on, Uriah. Get on with it,” he dares and gets a flash of pleasure from the ugly mask of fury that appears on Uriah’s face for a moment before it’s once again smoothed into its previous expressionless mask. The  other angels tighten their grips, although Stiles doesn’t know whether it’s because they’re frightened or angry. Uriah’s anger hangs so heavily in the air that it drowns out the taste of any other emotion.

Uriah doesn’t even speak again, just raises his arms and then swings it back down, neatly severing Stiles’ left wing right where it joined his back. The pain is all-consuming, Stiles can’t even feel anything else, just the bright, hot, furious pain that’s leeching away his strength. It’s more than just the fact that he’s got a gaping wound in his back, but it’s also because his wings are literally a part of his soul. Parts of himself are being scooped out of his memory, and their absence is just a painful as the line of fire burning itself into his back.

“And now we’ll find out if your precious mortals are truly so special, if you can find your back to them again,” he hears Uriah hiss, low enough that the others won’t hear and Stiles understands what’s happening.

Stiles understands that he’s not receiving a trial because Uriah, the little angel boy that Stiles had once taught how to swing a sword, is angry that Stiles left him behind to guide mortals, even though he’d long since fulfilled his duty where that was concerned and had then chosen not to return Above once Scott had become an Alpha and no longer obviously required Stiles’ guidance. Uriah was angry that Stiles had chosen mortals over his fellow angels.

Pain flared again, his entire world narrowing to the white haze of pain for a long moment, and Stiles slumped forward, the only thing keeping him upright were the two angels who were still holding his arms. His wings lay on the ground, still beautiful and pristine, except where his blood had begun to soak into the grey feathers, dying them red. He could feel the warmth of fresh blood running down his back, soaking into the waistband of his jeans. Bright spots were dancing in his vision and he gasped for air through the pain, trying to pay attention to what was going on around him.

“Judgment has been passed,” Uriah intoned and the two angels still holding him up dropped his arms, joining their compatriots in gathering up Stiles wings, which were growing steadily redder, even though the pool of blood they’d been lying in wasn’t even big enough to cover half of them. “Your wings have been clipped and will be used to erase all memories of your existence in the minds of mortals and angels alike, except for the Watchers. When you next wake your new life will be in place.”

“I will find my way back to them,” Stiles spat out, fighting the irresistible pull of unconsciousness.

Uriah sneered, and the other angels took to the air, carrying Stiles’ wings away with them. Stiles knew he’d never see them again and couldn’t find the energy to care, although he knew that he’d mourn their loss later. “No, you will not, Stiles. I will make sure of that, I promise you.”

Stiles just glared up at the angel, truly a mortal for the first time, but with all of his determination and unshakeable will still pushing him along. “And I swear to you that I will find my way back home.”

Uriah just let out an ugly laugh, the one that used to make Stiles’ skin crawl and now only angered him, before taking to the air, flying in the direction that the other angels had taken. Stiles allowed himself to fall forward then, lying on the cold concrete of an empty parking lot while blood leaked from the wounds on his back. “I promise,” he whispered once more, to himself, before the blackness stole over him.

****\---** **

There’s not many times when Derek has to just stop and try to breathe, try to remember despite the pain, but they happen. At the end of the first month everyone is still being positive and reassuring, the optimism is still tangible, but it’s already begun to wane. Lydia starts crying at dinner that night and has to run out, with Allison quickly following. He’s not sure if it was to go check on Lydia or if she was about to cry as well, but he also never cares to find out. It’s not a pressing issue so he ignores it, in a way that he knows if Stiles was here would earn him a disapproving look until he dealt with it.

The thing is though, Stiles isn’t here and that’s the entire problem. If Stiles was here no disapproving looks would be needed, because everything would be fine. Well, alright, Derek will admit that the territory dispute going on with the neighboring pack would still be a problem, but nothing compared to what it is at the moment without Stiles there to smooth things over. The memories was over him, hitting him with wave after wave of emotion, but he welcomes it, because that means there’s still hope, because as long as they can still remember, there’s still a chance that Stiles can find his way home.

****\---** **

Stiles has been traveling for about three months. He lost count of the exact amount somehow, even though he was carefully marking down the days, but he’s not surprised. He’s got a pretty good rough estimate and that works well enough. It turns out that money’s not a problem for him in this life, he’s rolling in it thanks to an inheritance from his dead parents.

Guilt for that sometimes clogs his throat, the thought that maybe there were people who has loved him in this life, before he remembers that he wasn’t born to those people, that he still has the same body that he was born into as a Stilinski, the one that he used to play around with Scott in, the one that was all long limbs and pale skin. The one that Derek had worshipped. He tries to remember that when fake memories of a life as someone named Sam slip into his head.

It’s just getting harder to separate Sam and Stiles every now and then.

****\---** **

Four months in and Derek wakes up one morning without automatically reaching towards the opposite side of the bed. The side that’s remained empty and cold for too long. That morning he gets up and gets ready for the day, doing his daily exercises and then heading for the shower without once even glancing at the side of the bed with the undisturbed sheets and the still nicely fluffed blanket.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s doing it until he’s in the shower and it hits him that he didn’t look for Stiles this morning. It was no longer instinctual to seek out the warm body that should be in bed next to him, that the absence of that body isn’t even something he was concerned with. The shower takes a lot longer than it normally does and when he does get out his eyes are suspiciously red. No one’s there to ask him about it though.

****\---** **

He’s been traveling for almost six months. Six months of almost constant motion, of aimless wandering. He’s made it from wherever in North Carolina he was dropped at to a small town in Kentucky. Not that far from where he began, but then he doesn’t really know where he’s going, besides West. Kentucky is a step in the right direction, even if he doesn’t know where that direction is going to end up taking him. At one point, months ago, he’d had a better idea of where he was heading, but he’d lost that knowledge.

He’d just woken up one morning and no longer knew where he was going. Stiles had spent that entire day throwing a fit of rage in his motel room, frustrated beyond endurance about his lack of memory. He got so worked up that the healing wounds on his back that sat where his wings once had all broke open. That night he’d had to sit under the shower as it washed the fresh blood off and the wounds once again coagulated to form a thin scab, just enough that he was no longer bleeding. After that he’d been extra careful with his back and always carried extra fresh bandages. They’ve come in handy more than once, especially when his back starts bleeding in public.

The little piece of paper upon which he’d originally wrote his plan is faded and smudged so that it’s unreadable. The paper itself is soft from all the times it’s been folded and crumpled and stuffed in Stiles’ pocket. He still refuses to get rid of it though, because it’s the only thing resembling a plan that he has left.

It’s taken him six months to get to Kentucky and he doesn’t even know why. It would have been easier to just drive straight across the country to the Western state he’d been heading towards, he could have been there within days of leaving the hospital, and even if he hadn’t known exactly where he was going, he would have been closer. He would have been close enough that maybe he would have been able to sense his way home, instead of being stuck in some small town in the middle of nowhere, wondering who the hell he used to be.

There’s anger there now, so much more anger than there’d been all those months ago, when he’d still been hopeful, been so naively optimistic. He’s angry at himself, but more than anything he’s angry at Uriah. Angry at the little boy that he’d taken under his wing all those centuries ago and helped to raise into a soldier. Stiles is the only reason that Uriah is a leader among the angels, and he chose to cut off Stiles’ wings for what he saw as a betrayal, even if Stiles’ decision had nothing to do with Uriah.

It was something that Stiles probably should have realized long before, that Uriah was incapable of looking beyond himself. Oh, he’d loved Stiles, that was certainly true otherwise the hatred and betrayal he now felt wouldn’t be so strong, but it was always in relation to how Stiles treated Uriah. Long ago, when Stiles had been the only one to believe that Uriah could one day be a powerful angel, then he’d been worshipped because his role in Uriah’s life was something positive, something uplifting to Uriah. Even after he’d started going on assignments again, he’d been a role model to Uriah and on his brief visits Above had spent much of his time with the boy angel.

Then he’d been called on to lead Scott McCall to greatness, to help to guide him to his position as second in the Hale pack. And Stiles had found the home he’d never been able to find Above, where it was militant and expectations were loaded upon you. He’d found a family, but more than that he’d found love. So when his purpose there had been fulfilled he’d chosen not to return Above.

He’d served for centuries without ever taking time off to enjoy life, he had more than enough time saved up to be able to stay in this place for the rest of the mortals’ lives before having to return Above. It had been fine, perfect even, Stiles could remember that much at least. He could remember what had lead to the decision that he should remain on the ground with mortals, which had resulted in his wings being cut off, he just couldn’t remember how to get back there. He couldn’t remember who the people were that he’d given up everything for, beyond flashes of their faces and sometimes the sound of their voices.

He remembered Derek though, remembered the sound of his voice from that one phone call. Stiles had never been able to make contact again, but he remembered those brief moments in which he could hear Derek’s voice and could imagine his face as he spoke. He clings to those memories even more than he clings to the lingering ideas of where home is, because the only time he feels safe is when he can think of Derek and remember that somewhere out there, someone is waiting for him to come home.

****\---** **

New Year’s Eve and Derek is very much aware of Stiles’ absence. He thinks it’s somewhere around the vicinity of six months since he last saw Stiles, but he’s no longer certain. At one point he’d had the date that Stiles had disappeared circled on his calendar but the mark had long since faded away. The pack is all at his house, having a party that Lydia forced him to host. He didn’t protest all that hard though, he didn’t want to be alone again.

The Sheriff is there too, off in the corner. Derek should go over and talk to him, maybe bring up the latest gossip from the station now that Derek works there too, but he can’t bring himself to do so. At midnight there’s the usual countdown and Derek tries to remember last year, the feel of Stiles’ lips against his, the faint taste of champaign, and his laughter. Suddenly the prospect of the new year doesn’t seem quite so hopeful.

****\---** **

Stiles knows that it’s Christmas Eve, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. It’s been about a year and a half since his wings were cut and he can’t help but feel even more lost than he’d been last year. Last year he’d been in New York, he’d wandered there after that afternoon in Kentucky when he’d lost his heading. He’d felt enough of a pull to know that it was the wrong direction, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to care. He’d wandered New York City, had stayed there through New Year’s and watched the ball drop in Times Square. Last year, he hadn’t been worried yet, he’d still been certain that he’d find his way home.

This year, he’s not so sure. So he spends Christmas Eve in his jeep, aimlessly driving in a general Westward direction. He remembers that much, at least. He knows that he needs to head West, even if he doesn’t know exactly where in the West. He’s in central Illinois and snow’s coming down pretty thickly, but he just keeps driving, the expressway is clear enough. The radio’s playing Christmas songs because if he’s not going to celebrate he feels like he should at least have some reminder of what day it is. He has a feeling that he used to like Christmas, but he’s not too sure.

He doesn’t even notice when the song comes on, not at first. And then he’s pulling off the expressway and into an oasis. He parks the car and rests his head against the steering wheel, just listening. It hurts, so much more than he’d expected, because he’s not going to be home for Christmas. For the second time in a row, he doesn’t know where his home is. He thinks of those people he can still remember, their names a little hazy but their faces still bright and clear in his mind.

He can’t remember his dad’s name any longer, but he still knows what he looks like in his sheriff’s uniform and the way his shoulders would round and he’d slump just a little when he got home at the end of a long day. Scott’s still a bright point in his memory, smiling at him from the emptiness. Sometimes when he doesn’t think he can keep going, Stiles likes to remember Scott’s smile and that’s enough to get him to go that extra mile towards wherever it is he’s going.

Derek though, Derek’s the clearest. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because he clings to those memories the hardest or if it’s because Derek still remembers him at least a little, but he hopes that it’s some combination of both. It hurts to think of Derek tonight, as the singer croons about home and those waiting for him, because Stiles knows Derek is waiting for him. He knows it like he knows nothing else, but tonight that knowledge doesn’t make him feel better. Tonight, it just tears a hole in his heart.

So he lets himself cry for the first time, lets himself despair. He’s so lost, so alone, that he doesn’t know what to do anymore. He just wants to go home.

 ---

Christmas Eve at the station is surprisingly quiet, but then there’s only Derek and the Sheriff left by this time of night. They’d volunteered, knowing that everyone else had families and loved ones that they needed to get home to. The two of them didn’t have anyone, unless they counted each other. Sure, there was the pack, but they had their own families. They would be having Christmas dinner together tomorrow, tonight they were spending with their families. Derek didn’t mind, sometimes he even appreciated being left alone and the quiet.

Someone had left a radio tuned to a local station that never stopped playing Christmas carols but Derek couldn’t bring himself to actually get up and change it. It was Christmas Eve, after all, he might as well have Christmas carols. So he sat and did his paperwork, scowling when he caught himself humming along to “Little Drummer Boy” because that had always been his favorite and he and Laura used to have contests to see who could sing it louder. The memory didn’t burn like an open wound by this point, but it was like poking a bruise, still painful. But he still stops humming along.

It’s the next song, though, that really tears at his heart and he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s because it was his mother’s favorite song and used to echo through his house the entire month of December, but for some reason that doesn’t feel right. There’s something else in it that makes his heart ache, makes him feel more lonely than he’s felt in a very long time. It’s probably the hopeful lyrics, the singer determined to make it home, because Derek knows that if he relates this song to anyone in his life, that hope is gone, because none of them are ever going to be home for Christmas again.

He hasn’t gotten any work done as he listens to the carol drag on and tears begin to prick at the back of his eyes. One finally escapes to trail down his cheek just before the Sheriff emerges from his office and Derek would be ashamed, but the older man’s eyes are just as red and tear-filled as his own. So Derek just nods and the two of them listen to the song in silence, each caught up in their own losses. When the song ends the Sheriff clears his throat loudly before turning to face Derk again.

“My wife used to play that song all the time, she loved it,” he says and Derek can only nod in sympathy.

“It was my mother’s favorite,” he offers up and this time it’s the Sheriff who nods. “But tonight, listening to it makes me feel as if there’s something or someone I’m forgetting, someone who’s supposed to be here.”

Derek expects the older man to just dismiss the thought and is mildly surprised when he just frowns and gives a small nod. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The silence stretches heavily between them for a long moment before the Sheriff sighs and straightens up from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe of his office. Derek nods again and they both go back to their work, neither acknowledging the moment that just happened. An hour later the same song plays on the radio and Derek gets up to switch stations before the Sheriff comes out again. But before he actually does so the face of a young man, pale and with golden brown eyes and short hair, flashes through his mind, there and gone again before he can even process what he’s seen. He ends up feeling even more lonely once the station has been safely switched.

Hours later, when he finally gets to go home, the face is still stuck in his head. He knows that he’s seen it somewhere before, but he can’t place exactly where. It’s driving him crazy, because he knows that he should know who it is, but he doesn’t. More than anything though it makes him feel incredibly lonely, because no one’s going to be coming home for him, no matter how much he’s beginning to think he wants that young man the face belongs to to be waiting for him at home, with a warm drink and a smile.

The thought makes him frown and shake his head before getting ready for bed. Sleep overtakes him, but it’s not peaceful and he tosses and turns for hours. Then he wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping in horror and covered in a cold sweat. Stiles. He’d forgotten Stiles, that’s the thought that’s been plaguing him since he’d heard that song. There is someone he’s waiting for to get home, and he’d forgotten him despite his promises not to. Derek doesn’t manage to fall back asleep again for the rest of the night.

****\---** **

It’s been more than two years since Stiles disappeared and the memories are almost gone, there are even days when no one remembers Stiles at all. Derek’s lost track of exactly when Stiles was taken, he just knows that it was sometime in the summer two years ago. It’s autumn now so it’s been more than two years, he knows at least that, but that knowledge doesn’t comfort him in the least. The memories are becoming more and more slippery and Derek isn’t sure if he’ll be able to hold on for much longer.

So he plans to go out and make a trip to look for Stiles, although he has no idea where to go. His plan is to go North to Oregon first, because that’s the first direction that popped into his head and he’s taken to trusting his instincts. His instincts led him to Stiles so long ago and he’ll trust them to lead him to Stiles once again. So he starts packing his car and preparing to go looking while Scott prepares to take his place while he’s gone. In the end it doesn’t even matter, he never even gets to leave.

He’s still standing on the porch in front of the house, pocketing his house key, when the angel appears. The same angel who’d led the others when they’d taken away Stiles. He’s standing in the yard, in a relaxed stance and Derek drops his bag to the ground, paying no attention to the dull thud it makes when it hits the wood. The angel is smiling up at him, but Derek can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He’s not about to mistake this angel as a friend.

“Ah, Derek,” he says and Derek does his best not to react. “I must say, I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep so many of your memories for so long. Two and a half years? That’s quite impressive, more than anyone else I’ve heard of in a very long time.”

“What do you want?” Derek growls out, trying to subtly get into the most defensible location.

The angel lets out a little laugh. “I already have what I want,” he says and Derek’s instincts scream at him to run, to run as fast and as far as he can. But he finds that he can’t move as the angel starts walking towards him. “I have permission to take the final step and wipe the rest of your memories.”

Derek’s eyes widen and he tries as hard as he can to move, to get away, to find some way to defend himself, but he’s stuck, just like he was the day that Stiles was taken away. The angel gives a little chuckle and then he’s standing right before Derek and in his hands is a wing. A wing that might have once been magnificent, but is now faded and missing many of its feathers, but despite having only seen it once Derek recognizes it.

The angel must see that recognition in Derek’s eyes because his own eyes widen and he halts for a moment, looking between the wing and Derek before letting out another delighted laugh. “Oh now this is a pleasure! You know it’s his wing and here I thought the poetry of this moment would be lost on you.”

Derek watches, helpless, as the angel grabs a fistful of the feathers and yanks them free, letting the rest of the wing go as it disappears back into thin air. The angel’s standing just a foot in front of him, easily within arm distance, but Derek still can’t do anything. He can’t avoid the touch of the angel and he brings his fistful of feathers up and rests them against Derek’s heart.

He holds them there as they disappear and Derek’s frantic, trying his best to remember everything while the memories slip away faster than he can try to grab them. He blinks and everything’s gone. “Goodbye Derek,” the angel whispers and then he’s gone too.

**Derek looks down at his duffel bag in confusion, wondering why he’d brought it out. He’d only been planning to run to the store for groceries.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so there's chapter two! This one's really starting to get into the difficulty that Stiles and Derek are having and I am aware that that is a pretty evil place to end the chapter, but the next one will be up next Tuesday!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles stops in Oregon a little past the two and a half year mark. He’s so tired, so lonely, and his heart feels like its holes will never be filled again. So, for the first time since he was set down in North Carolina, he gives up. He sees a sign for help wanted in the window of the diner he stopped at for lunch and inquires after it. He gets the job, but then he’s always been good with words and this diner seems to be the hub of social activity in this small town.

He even leases the apartment over the diner. Moving his two bags from his jeep to the apartment is a little depressing because he doesn’t have enough to make the apartment look less empty. He unpacks everything, hanging up his clothes in the closet and filling to medicine cabinet. When he’s finished he looks around and takes notice of all the little details that are missing. First, there’s the fact that he has no food, which isn’t that big of a problem considering he lives over a diner, but then there’s the fact that his place is completely impersonal.

There’s nothing in this place that makes it his, no pictures or keepsakes or even books to mark it as belonging to him. Stiles doesn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. Too many things are still missing in his head, there are still too many gaps in his memory for him to start trying to make somewhere fully his. Right now, this is enough. He’s got somewhere to stay and a lease for an entire year, even though he’d had reservations about signing such a long contract. It makes him a little nervous, a little jittery, because the only thing that’s been a constant in his life for more than two years is his jeep. But he likes the idea of waking up in the same place more than twice, likes the hint of permanence that has somehow taken root in his life since that morning.

He gets up the next morning after sleeping in his clothes and is more than a little surprised to not feel that irrepressible urge to keep moving, to keep trying to find his way. Instead, it’s like that part of him is just gone and he can’t find the energy to be worried about it. Stiles is just so exhausted of constant motion by this point that he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that the pull his entire life has been centered around has suddenly disappeared. He knows, deep down inside in that place he does his best not to acknowledge because it hurts, that it’s because Uriah did something. He just can’t bring himself to care.

So he goes down to the diner and starts to learn the ropes. Maureen, the waitress who has been there for almost thirty years, coos over him and introduces him to all the locals. It’s fun and he loves it, loves the way that he can just talk to people for the first time in years, get to know them without the knowledge that he will never see them again. He likes getting to know them, hadn’t realized just how much he’d actually missed it.

Towards the end of his shift a group of men come in, all dressed in rough clothing. One of them stands out though, he’s taller than average and obviously well-built, with a clean shaven face and blue eyes. Stiles finds his gaze lingering on that one, admiring his dark hair, the way that the brown is so clear against his pale skin. Maureen notices eventually and gives Stiles this sly little smile.

“That’s Kevin and his boys. They work in the lumber yard down the road, Kevin’s father owns it but Kevin’s been running it ever since he came home from school a few years ago,” she says, in a conspiratorial tone. Stiles gives Kevin a speculative look and is a bit surprised to find those pretty blue eyes looking right back at him. “Be careful though, he’s got a reputation for breaking the hearts of nice boys like you.”

“Oh, I, um,” Stiles starts to say, cheeks and ears going red, but Maureen just gives him another smile and pats his cheek.

“Don’t try and get anything by me, Sam,” she says and he takes a moment to remember that that’s his name. She’s talking to him. He is Sam.

He doesn’t know why the name sounds suddenly unfamiliar, because it was the only name that he can really remember having. Of course, he shuts out the little voice in his head, the one he can’t place, that says it’s not his name, it’s never been his name. He shuts out the foggy memory of dreams with the wolf-man, the one with the beautiful green-blue eyes and the sad smile, who had called out to him, calling him something he can’t remember. No, his name is Sam, Stiles is sure of that, as sure as he is of the fact that this isn’t his home, but it could be.

So he looks back up and sees those blue eyes are still on him and he smiles, this coy, little smile that he knows will require a response. Kevin’s eyes go wide and he answers with a grin and Stiles doesn’t know why but his heart squeezes a little to see a smile, as if he was expecting a frown instead. He brushes that aside though, because Kevin is coming up to the counter, wearing an expression that means he expects something from Stiles, and Stiles finds that he’s probably going to give up whatever Kevin is expecting.

“I’m Kevin Myles,” he says and stretches out a hand for Stiles to shake and turns up the charm in his smile. “I hear you’re going to be staying in town for a little while…” he trails off, obviously expecting Stiles to supply his name.

Stiles just returns the smile and the handshake, before taking a step back, reaching for the empty glass that had been left on the counter. “Sam, I’m Sam. And yeah, I think I’ll be staying for a bit,” he says and walks away, swinging his hips just enough that he can feel Kevin’s gaze fixed firmly on his ass until the kitchen door swings shut behind him. Yeah, he thinks he’ll stick around here. 

\---

Derek’s not really sure what made him decide to take up a deputy position in Beacon Hills, but he knows it probably had something to do with Sheriff Stilinski. The older man treated him like the son he’d never had and Derek always privately thought that it was a shame that the Sheriff’s wife had gotten sick before they’d managed to start a family because the Sheriff would have made an excellent father. Instead, he had to make do with taking troubled kids like Derek under his wing. Derek loved the man like a father, don’t get him wrong, it’s just that he’d always felt that the Sheriff should have had a son, a brilliant son who talked too much but who loved his father with a fierce loyalty that the Sheriff returned just as fiercely.

He thought about that sometimes, when he was stuck behind the desk at the station for long shifts. It always made him vaguely melancholy, but he figured that had to do with the fact that the Sheriff would have been so much less lonely if he’d had a son, instead of just a dead wife and a makeshift one in Derek. So Derek tries his best, does everything he can to keep the supernatural in Beacon Hills contained so that there aren’t any deaths and the Sheriff doesn’t have to worry so much. Not that it really stops him, Derek swears that the Sheriff was designed to worry, which doesn’t do his heart very good but it’s all Derek can do to at least get him to eat a healthy meal a couple times a week. He tries though; he owes it to… someone to try. He’s not sure who, only that he has a feeling he does.

But he’s glad that he followed the Sheriff into law enforcement that night when a young woman, about his age, soaked from the rain, and pretty comes running into the station one night. “Oh thank god someone is here,” she says, wringing out her long blonde hair, not even bothering with her soaked through t-shirt and jeans. “I was afraid that this is such a small town that no one would be here this late.”

She’s not even looking at him, had barely even glanced at him when she came in that he actually feels a little insulted. He’s used to people staring at him, especially people he’s never met before, he knows exactly what he looks life. So he just clears his throat and stands up. “Can I help you with something, miss?” he asks, coming out from behind the desk to stand in front of her.

Her eyes go wide and do that thing people are always doing to him, where they go up and down in a quick sweep, just taking all of him in. He hates is when people do that, but he likes the way that her mouth quirks into a half-smile after she eyes have settled on his face. “Yes, I do believe you can,” she says but just then the Sheriff comes out of his office, pulling on his coat.

“Derek, get your coat. There’s been an accident on the highway,” he says and Derek jumps to grab his jacket, the pretty girl already forgotten. It’s been raining pretty hard lately and the highway sometimes flooded, causing cars to hydroplane and then crash. There weren’t any deaths this year and Derek really hoped that that trend would continue.

“Hey!” the girl says, reminding the two men of her presence. “Listen, is there anyone else here I can talk to? Since you’ve obviously got to go?”

The Sheriff gives Derek an appraising look that makes the hair on the back of Derek’s neck stand on end. That look means he’s getting ideas and Derek’s involved and generally the Sheriff’s ideas that involve Derek and a girl do not end well. Actually they never end well.

“Write down your name and number and leave it on the desk, Deputy Hale will give you a call tomorrow morning, does that work for you?” the Sheriff says and Derek knows that the next words out of his mouth will be him lying through his teeth. There were plenty of others in the station who could help the girl. “We’re a little short-staffed tonight.”

Derek knew it. He threw the Sheriff a glare while the girl’s back was turned and she wrote down her information before offering it to Derek. “I’ll be at home all morning,” she said and winked before sashaying out the door. Derek scowled down at the note, not even bothering to watch the girl, whose name was apparently Sarah, even though she obviously wanted him to.

“Why me?” he just complained to the Sheriff, who responded with a laugh and the clapping of a hand on Derek’s shoulder as he steered the younger man out towards the car. Derek just scowled, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting out of calling this girl. The Sheriff obviously thought himself a clever matchmaker, but Derek saw right through him. He wasn’t going to be falling for this Sarah, he knew it. He just had a feeling that there was someone else out there, someone he had to wait for, and Sarah was most definitely not this person.

\---

Working at a diner was actually a lot easier than Stiles had expected it to be. He’s got a knack for remembering people’s orders, as well as all of the little personal details that they share with him. He likes to hear about their lives, about their families and friends and all the town gossip. It’s like he’s a part of something, as he hasn’t been since he woke up in that hospital more than a year ago. Perhaps he’d been someone to someone else before that, but he can’t remember it now.

There’s a blank space in his mind and for some reason the longer he stays in River Pines the less he cares about it. Once it had driven him clear across the continental United States and now, when he knows that he’s closer than he’s ever been before, he can’t bring himself to continue. It’s like all of his motivation has suddenly disappeared, leaving him hanging in the breeze. He feels like in some ways he was lucky to be stuck in River Pines, at least here he’s managed to find a job and an apartment, some form of permanence in a life that has been lived on the road for too long.

The bell above the door rings, jolting him out of his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. He does that sometimes, just gets lost in his own head, luckily it only seems to happen when there’s no one in the diner. Kevin Myles walks through the door and Stiles has to stop himself from dropping the towel he’d been using to wipe down the tables.

There’s something about Kevin that rings all the warning bells in his head, but he can’t seem to work out exactly which warning bells they are. He knows he’s attracted to the other man, more than just a little attracted, but he still sees the darkness that seems to follow Kevin around, even if no one else in this town does.

“Sam,” Kevin says and a little shiver goes down Stiles’ back, something he can’t decide if it’s fear or desire that’s making him feel this way. “I’m glad I caught you alone.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to do or what to say as Kevin stalks forward, into the diner and the harsh, false lighting somehow makes him even more handsome, but still manage to bring out a cruel twist. He brushes it off as the lighting, Kevin has been nothing but kind to him since he arrived.

“Is something wrong?” Stiles manages, feeling like he should have a million and one words to say in this situation but all of them have been ripped away as surely as his memories have been. “You’re here a little earlier than usual.”

Kevin smiles and the cruel lighting seems to disappear, replaced by the kind and welcoming man that Stiles has come to know in his weeks here at River Pines. It gives him a weak feeling of relief to see that man return, but he brushes it aside, it’s nothing he should feel relieved about. “Nothing’s wrong exactly, except that I get the feeling you haven’t fully understood my intentions,” he says and stops indecently close to Stiles, close enough that Stiles can feel his body heat, can smell his tasteful aftershave.

“Intentions?” Stiles voice goes high but he’s thankful it doesn’t actually crack. Kevin’s been flirting with him, coming on to him, almost nonstop since he’s arrived, Stiles has no doubt what exactly his intentions are. It’s just that something in him, something stemming from that blank place, won’t let him reciprocate. It tells him that this is wrong, that he has someone, somewhere, waiting for him and he can’t betray them like this. It’s difficult to listen to that little voice when Kevin is right there, overwhelming him with words that he can’t pretend to misunderstand.

“Intentions,” Kevin repeats and his eyes watch as Stiles swallows. “I want you, Sam, I want you very much,” he says and then he’s leaning forward, capturing Stiles’ lips with his own and Stiles can feel his head swimming but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. He drops the towel instead and somehow his hands end up fisted in Kevin’s hair and their tongues are battling for dominance. That little voice in his head warning him away is just a distant memory.

\---

Derek’s really not sure why he agreed to this. Okay, well he kind of is. Sheriff Stilinski really needs needs another hobby because obviously fishing isn’t enough if that had led to him standing behind Sarah, looking at Derek until he agreed to coffee with her. Derek appreciates the fact that the Sheriff cares enough to want him to be happy, but he also doesn’t like to be maneuvered into interacting with humans he’s really not interested in. Emotional manipulation through looks alone was the Sheriff’s specialty and had led to him awkwardly sitting at a small table in the local coffee shop with Sarah.

They’re just sitting there, doing their level best not to make eye contact, and neither of them are really saying anything. At least until her nerves and fidgeting come to a head and she puts her coffee down, looking him in the eye for the first time that afternoon. “Okay, so don’t take this the wrong way, but I have no idea why I asked you out. I mean yeah, you’re freaking gorgeous, but tall, dark, and moody really isn’t my type,” she bursts out. It’s a strange feeling, but Derek could literally feel the relief washing over him.

“No, I get it,” he said, allowing his mouth to crook up into a half-smile, which made her grin. “I only agreed because the Sheriff was standing right behind you, looking like he’d shoot me if I didn’t.”

That made her laugh and the last of his tension drained away. “But, uh, since you’re here, and I just moved to this area, I could really use a friend?” She looks up at him with wide, hopeful brown eyes and for a second he thinks they look more amber in the light before he shakes the thought off because her eyes are so dark they’re almost black, they could never look amber.

“I can do friends,” he returns, not sure why he said that, because he doesn’t make friends easily, doesn’t even really like most people not in his pack, but he can kind of feel this connection with Sarah, as if whatever it is in his life that he’s lost, the event he can’t quite remember, as if she’s the same way. As if she’s lost something just as big. And the smile that she gives him reminds him of someone he can’t quite remember, but it fills him with warmth, as if that person was someone he loved.

“I’m glad but now that we’re friends I need to tell you that you’ve really got to cut down on the whole growly, glaring, not talking thing you’ve got going on. It’s intimidating and you’re a small town cop, you should be approachable.”

Derek just gapes at her, a feeling of deja vu prickling at the back of his mind, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He knows that it’s because Sarah reminds him of his sister right now, smugly smiling at him around her mug of sugar with a little bit of coffee. The thought makes his heart twinge, but not as badly as it once did, not enough to make him close himself off.

“Excuse me?” he gives his best indignant look, injured pride evident. She throws her head back in a laugh, one that uses her whole body, and he’s caught in a sudden vision.

A young man sits across from him, with long, elegant fingers clasped around a paper coffee cup. His head’s thrown back in laughter, exposing the long line of his pale neck rising from his red hoodie.. His eyes are scrunched closed as he laughs and Derek feels this visceral punch to the gut because he wants to see those eyes, but more than anything he wants to hear that laugh, wants to have it ringing in his ears. He wants the sound of this boy’s laughter to surround him but all he can hear is Sarah.

He blinks and the boy’s gone, already Derek can’t quite remember what he looked like. Sarah’s sitting across from him again, as if she was never gone, giving him a strange look, as if she knows what he just saw. She gives him another small smile and Derek’s lips quirk into a half-smile, as if he can no longer bring himself to fully smile at her.

“Although,” she starts and his eyebrows go up, already knowing she’s going to say something he’s not expecting. It’s not that he clicked with her instantly, as if he’s known her for forever, but it’s more like she reminds of him someone that he knows inside and out and he can predict her to a certain extent based on that similarity. The only problem is that he’s pretty sure he’s never met someone like her before.

“You do more talking than first impressions and your general attitude would suggest,” she continues and his eyebrows go even higher. “It’s like you don’t want to deal with people but you just can’t hold back all of your snark. I mean, just look at your eyebrows! You even snark with those.”

Derek has a response, a good one too, but it withers away on his tongue as he hears a voice say “Did you know that in the event of you losing your voice I could still tell exactly what you wanted to say based entirely on your eyebrows?”

He knows instinctively that the voice belongs to the boy he saw, the boy who he can no longer clearly remember, and he scrambles desperately to try and recall what he looked like. The words are bad enough, but it’s the voice that makes him feel like he was punched in the gut and it’s not healing. The voice is soft and gentle, quiet but not really a whisper. Affection makes itself known in the tone, as if this was said in a tender moment between lovers. He tries to remember what was said but the words have already faded, leaving him with just a faint reflection of the voice to match his memory of the boy’s looks.

“Derek?” Sarah asks, cutting into his desperate scramble for memory. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick...” she trails off and he’s never been so grateful for an out before.

“I need to go, sorry, I just remembered something I forgot at the station.” That’s a lie, Derek never forgets anything pertaining to his job, he’s always very careful about that, but he can’t sit here any longer.

He likes Sarah, he thinks she’d get along great with his pack, but he can’t be there. He needs to get out, to run as fast and as far as he can, until he’s made sense of this or until he’s forgotten it.

\---

Stiles has found that more and more he’s been avoiding people. It’s not something he’s doing on purpose, not at all, but over the few weeks since he arrived in River Pines, and especially since he started seeing Kevin, he’s become withdrawn. At work he’s not as talkative anymore and people are starting to notice, but he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s as if something from his blank memory is starting to wake up, to scream at him. He tries to put it out of mind, tries his absolute best to keep from thinking about it, but it’s just always there. Kevin teases him about it sometimes, thinking it’s just simple absentmindedness, but if it was just that Stiles would be relieved. He can’t handle too much more, his safe haven here at the diner is slowly disappearing.

With each day that passes the itch to be moving again becomes more and more noticeable. The only thing that seems to calm it is being around Kevin, but even that Stiles can only do so often. He wants to be with Kevin, he knows that, but some part of his can never quite accept it and it keeps him holding himself back, keeping himself from giving every part of himself to this relationship. Each day that passes makes it a little bit easier though, each day without a memory and he becomes a little more attached to River Pines. This wanderlust is sure to pass soon enough, Stiles is certain, because he’s not willing to give up the closest thing he’s had to a home in a long time.

\---

Derek’s standing at the kitchen sink washing up after dinner when the memory hits him. The pack had been over for dinner, all of them loud and boisterous, making him wish that his house held more than just him after all this time. Sarah had even come, somehow blending into the group seamlessly, there hadn’t even been any problems of almost revealing the fact that she was having dinner with a pack of werewolves. She’d especially hit it off with Lydia, but then, Derek had suspected she would.

Everyone has already left, pleading work in the morning or the need to get children to bed. Derek hadn’t been fooled, none of them liked cleaning even though they were supposed to be adults now. He wasn’t sure how any of them survived living on their own without dying in their own messes, but he wasn’t particularly concerned either. As long as he didn’t have to be at their places when they were a mess then he didn’t care what they looked like the rest of the time, he wasn’t their mom or their dad, he was their alpha.

He doesn’t mind being left to clean his own kitchen though, he likes standing at the sink and washing the pots and pans, the sound of the dish washer churning in the background. It’s relaxing, almost like meditation and that thought makes him smile and give a snort of laughter. Stiles would find it hilarious if he knew that Derek considered washing dishes his own personal form of meditation, he thinks. Derek would never get out of kitchen duty again if Stiles found out.

His lips are quirked into a small smile and then he realizes exactly what he just thought. A platter that he doesn’t even remember getting slips through his suddenly nerveless fingers and crashes on the counter with a bang, but he doesn’t even flinch. His heart’s pounding a rapid beat in his chest and his breath is coming in short gasps as he tries to understand what just happened. Because suddenly the boy he’s been getting flashes of for weeks, ever since that disastrous date with Sarah, are all coming together.

Stiles. That’s his name, the name that’s been on his lips for years, just waiting to be set free. “Stiles,” he says out loud, for the first time in years, and it’s like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. “Stiles,” he chokes out on a sob, saying the name over and over again as if it’s a prayer.

He remembers, he remembers now. The memories wash over him, soothing the ragged place in his heart that he’d been made to forget. The first time that Stiles had kissed him, the look on Stiles’ face when Derek had told him he loved him, the way Stiles would sing while he cooked, and all the other little flashes came together. Derek felt like he was drowning in the memories, unable to hold back the tidal wave.

And then one of them seized hold of him, or he held onto it, plucked it from the stream of other memories, to anchor him. It was a memory of another time, more than three years ago, when he’d been washing dishes again. It had been just the two of them and it was unseasonably cold, but Derek hadn’t cared.

He’d been standing at the sink wearing just his jeans when Stiles appeared in the doorway, wearing one of Derek’s shirts, boxers, and socks. “You left me all alone in bed,” he pouted, a look that never failed to seem ridiculous on him. “And you’re going to freeze like that, put some clothes on!”

“Someone needs to be a responsible adult around here,” Derek deflected, trying not to think about how much he liked it when Stiles wore his clothes. Instead he put the last of the pans into the drying rack before draining the sink. “And obviously it’s not going to be you.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested but his grin ruined the effect. Derek smiled in return, turning to face Stiles so that he could lean against the counter. “I resent that,” Stiles said as he shuffled over to stand in front of Derek, hooking his fingers’ into the belt loops on Derek’s pants. His knuckles just brushed against Derek’s bare skin above the waistband and Derek had to suppress a shiver.

“You mean you resemble that,” Derek returned, just to hear the laugh that he knew it would provoke out of Stiles. He reached out so that he could circle his arms around the younger man’s waist, lacing his fingers together so that they’d rest lightly on Stiles’ back.

Stiles grinned and let out that laugh, taking another step forward so that they’re bodies were just touching. Derek could feel the soft cotton of his own shirt brushing against his skin, warm from Stiles’ body. “I don’t know why I put up with you and your bad snark,” Stiles whispered, his voice fond, before he leaned forward just that little bit further so that their lips just brushed together. “Must be because I love you so much,” he said, lips moving against Derek’s as he spoke, before Derek leaned forward to truly capture his lips into a kiss.

Stiles pulled away from the kiss and out of Derek’s arms, his red lips swollen and curved into a smile, but he wrapped his hands around Derek’s, tugging him forward. “What are you doing?” Derek asked, although he had a feeling that he already knew. Stiles just grinned even wider and pulled him in the direction of the stairs up to their bedroom.

The rest of the memory is just as visceral, Derek remembers every moment of that night, every kiss and sound and the look on Stiles’ face. It hits him hard, a sharp pain in the chest, as if his heart is breaking into a million tiny pieces. Derek sinks to the floor, head in his hands as he leans back against the cabinets where he’d once kissed Stiles. “Stiles,” he sobs out, calling his lover’s name over and over again, knowing for the first time in a long time exactly what’s wrong with his life. “I’m sorry,” he lets out in a ragged whisper.

Because he’d forgotten. He’d broken that last promise with Stiles, that promise that was the only thing that could bring them together again and he’d broken it. He’d forgotten. But he remembered now, he remembered, and he wasn’t going to forget again. He was going to see Stiles again, was going to kiss him and embrace him and just hold him closely. He knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long delay! I've been really busy and had some writer's block but finally, here's the latest chapter! And here's where it seems to be getting a little happier!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so here's my first work on AO3! I will update this once a week and it will have five chapters total. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Also, please let me know if you find any errors, the last round of editing was done late last night and my beta lost power due to Hurricane Sandy so I might have missed some.


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